The Good Son

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Gianna’s body, its shape impossible, maddening, spun around that pole, its central axis. Men, all of them looming over slobbered-upon necks of beer, gazed up at her, doing so with an almost religious reverence, praying not to one God, but to many, doing so with the focus of their eyes. Those various gods, their ends in conflict, raged within each man, their battle lines drawn in various shapes. Some sat there, dumb and open-mouthed, a bliss washing over them in the shape of Gianna’s giant breasts and the tone of the flesh of her inner-thighs. Others sat there, their teeth gritting behind curled lips, staring at the harlot who pulled their attention from them, forcing them into those seats, in that dark club, away from the warmth of their homes, away from the smiles of their families, just to spend their evenings with their attention on none but her, living in the shadow she had cast over them, ruining the world with what-ifs, the same way beautiful women always did, their silhouettes a sucking void.

Women with fake breasts, butt and lip-injections, or caked with makeup to hide their various blemishes, glared at her, directly or through the corner of narrowing eyes, the bile within them sitting at the opposite end of their beauty, staining it at its various nuances, subtracting from them and adding to their distance, in beauty and desirability, to the woman they looked on with such malice and dread.

Gianna, smiling, registered none of this, only seeing the world around her spin, lifting as she slowly dropped herself to the stage below. The world had yet to know a woman as happy, as settled in her joy and one with her own bliss, and among the throng of faces eyeing her, she only saw those which grinned or sat wide-eyed, and those that didn’t she saw without processing any more deeply. Her naked flesh, its every exposed inch throbbed electrically, the way it always did when she was being watched, her stomach filled with butterflies, her mind with the future, never the past. She spread out her legs, her heavy breasts resting on her thighs, and she inserted her fingers into her pussy. The men all watched, one of them literally salivating. She smiled. She spread her pussy open. She shut her eyes.

She heard the cheers, felt the money falling over her, brushing her bangs and forehead, her nipples, tickling her stomach and ribs, like feathers against her heels and the lips of her pussy. She squeaked and the sound remained inaudible, which was fine, as she didn’t do it for the crowd. She didn’t do it for anyone. It was an involuntary thing. And as she felt a hand grab her by her calf, she looked over at the antsy bouncer in the corner. She shook her head, signalling to him that it was alright. He relaxed his posture. She felt more hands reach for her, feeling them against her thighs. Her mouth fell open, her eyes shut tight. She knew it could only go so far. She felt the hands leave her, and then a pair of them, tugging against her hips. Her body elevated, loving the pull, the weightlessness, felt the clawing hands as they were dragged away by a stronger force.

Then they let go.

She fell to the stage, her eyes still shut, her mouth still open, surrounded by money.

The other strippers, their faces contorted into disgust watched her there, writhing on the stage, as her assaulter was dragged off by security. She lay there, writhing, ignorant to all of it, awash in her own bliss.

As everyone watched, their feelings ambivalent, one man in the corner stared, so fascinated his drink sat untouched on his table. He motioned to the manager, who had been eyeing him nervously up until then. He lifted his hand to the nervous manager, doing so with complete confidence. The manager was already half-way to him as he curled his finger, staring at Gianna all the while.

Gianna’s thong was heavy with bills as she left the stage. The men only watched her, dying to touch, but warned away from it by the sight of the man who tried it initially being thrown out headfirst.

She smiled, her bliss giving way to contentment. She grabbed her blanket from staff, throwing it around her shoulders, when the manager appeared before her.

“Hey, beauti-“ Before she could finish, he had knabbed the blanket, tugging it from her shoulders.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice shaking uncharacteristically.

“Oh,” she said, smiling. “A big roller wants some of that Gianna charm, I see.”

“The Star Room,” he said, barely looking at her. “Make sure you give him quite the experience.”

“Will do, honey?” she said, winking. Before she had even finished, he had walked off nervously.

She came to the room, seeing through its door of beads the big figure which sat inside, his black silhouette surrounded by a world of garish pink. She smiled to herself, then she poked her chest out, knowing the beads would give way at the least pressure.

Inside, the man, drinking under his hat, saw her giant tits poke into the room. He smiled.

When the rest of Gianna came through, he thrust for her wrist, tugging her toward himself so quickly that she shrieked.

She landed in his lap, and he took another drink. Then he tilted the tumbler to her lips.

She smiled. Her lips met the glass, and she tasted his saliva on its rim. He tilted it, and she felt the liquid, strong, spill over her tongue and into her throat. She took it all, only pulling back, with eyes wide and nose burning, once it was empty.

“Good, isn’t it?” he asked.

She stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “It is,” she said. “The first few drops were, at least.”

He laughed. His laugh was deep and bassy. “’The first few drops,’ she says. I guess everything is good in moderation.” His hand, its fingers rough, came over her breast.

Gianna shut her eyes, feeling the warmth overtake her.

He pulled his hand away suddenly, leaving her cold. “Yeah, I guess I’m supposed to keep my hands to myself, aren’t I?”

She sat there, slowly opening her eyes. She looked at him, solemnly. “Yeah,” she said. “House rules.”

“House rules,” he repeated, and then began laughing. There was a wickedness, far from subtle in his laugh, but Gianna was slower than most to pick up on such things. “Okay baby,” he said, lifting her to her feet by the palm of her hand. “Rock my world then.”

She stood up, the warmth coming back. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, buzzing. “You have no idea.”

She leaned toward him, pushing her breasts against him. Then she turned around. She poked her ass out letting it fall to his lap. She felt his hands on her hips. She smiled to herself, her face turned away from him. “This good?” he asked, doing so softly, with real consideration in his voice.

“Yeah,” she said, just as softly. “It’s good.” She pushed her ass against him harder. “Real good.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, feeling the softness of her flesh against the stiff embrace of his own. “Like an angel. That’s why I wanted you.” His hands guided themselves up her flanks, and she felt them grab her giant breasts and squeeze. “Oh mama,” he said.

“Mama,” she repeated with a smile.

“That’s right. Mama.” He looked at the back of her head, its wall of jet-black hair, with a grin.

“I understand. That’s a popular one.”

“It’s surprising just how popular it is, isn’t it?” he kissed her on her back.

“It is. I hear it so often here. Then when it’s quitting time, I head home and have to hear it there too. From my own sons no less.” She began laughing to herself. Her ass still grinding against his cock.

He stared at the back of her head, his grin getting wider.

“You’d think I’d get sick of it at this point.” She turned her head, her face barely visible. “But I never do.”

“Mmm,” he replied. “All these men saying it…” he let his hands fall from her breasts, still enamored by their size, and he grabbed onto her hips. “…if they’re anything like me, they all want to fuck you.” He pulled her soft, shapely ass against his crotch, his grin forming wider. Too wide. “Do you think your boys feel the same?”

She stopped gyrating. She stared ahead at the corner of the room. Her laugh was delayed, just a social nicety. Then she turned without looking at him. “How ‘bout we keep my boys out of this?” She motioned toward her giant ass and then laughed, trying to not sound too offended.

He held her ass against his pelvis, and he moved it to make up for her lack of motion.

After a few more seconds, the moment, its vague distaste leading to colorlessness, passed, and she felt the warmth coming back. She began to gyrate her hips.

“Oh,” he said, feeling it. “Mommy. Mammina.”

She stopped again, only for a moment, before catching herself. “Mammina?” she mouthed. She continued gyrating.

Before she even felt one hand leave her hip, she felt it slapping against the underside of her breast, sending a shocking sting through its enormous mass. She shrieked inaudibly over the booming bass coming through the walls. “What are you-“

“Oh mammina. You’re a guinea too, right? Like me. Is that what your boys say when they’re in their rooms. When they’re tugging their greasy wop cocks to you? Huh?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she said sharply. “That’s not funny. Don’t talk about my-“

He squeezed her breast hard.

“Ow!” Gianna leaned forward, her eyes and mouth clamped shut in pain. “Let go!” she exclaimed through grit teeth.

“Huh?” he asked, still expecting an answer.

She shook her head, in pain and revulsion. “No,” she squeaked out.

“What?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he said, squeezing harder, enjoying the sensation of her doubling over on his lap. “Then you didn’t teach them to speak the mother tongue. ‘Mommy’ they say then. They gotta. After seeing these fat boys jiggling around in the house with ‘em all day… there’s no way… there’s no fuckin’ way…”

He let go, letting his hands slide over the shape of her hips.

She came back up, feeling great release from the pain. “Just…” she started, stumbling over her words. “I don’t like this kind of…”

“Relax, baby.”

His palm glided over her inner thigh, and her mind snapped its focus on the rough masculinity of it, falling deep within its embrace, her eyes shutting, her mouth falling open, ready for anything.

“A boy’s first fantasy is his mother.”

Her eyes shot open.

“I know mine was.”

Gianna, feeling herself being dragged away from the heaven of that rough palm, shut her eyes, trying to focus on its embrace.

“Sluts…” he whispered, Gianna hoped only to himself. His palm stopped moving. She felt his fingers grip onto the soft flesh of her thigh. “You think if your sons could see you now, in this very room, you think that they would rape you?”

Gianna’s eyes shot open. “Alright!” She shot up. “That’s enough, you freak! Get out of this room and.. Ahh!!” She felt herself being pulled downward by that very hand on her thigh. “Don’t!” she said.

He pulled her down harder. “What would stop them?” he continued. “What morality do they have to stay true to?” With one gigantic motion, he stood up, gripping her, and he thrust her, with extreme violence, toward the couch. “When you’ve broken every rule of morality yourself?”

Gianna tried to get up. He fell to her back, gripping the back of her neck with his hand. “Hey! Stop it! What are you doing, you sick- Arnold! Arnold!!!” Gianna called desperately to the bouncer but nobody came.

That’s when she felt him fall over her, his body big, full of middle-aged muscle and fat both, his flesh, made bare quickly, falling over her own.

She felt him pushing himself inside her as he muttered to himself. “Your fuckin’ sons. Fuckin whore of a mother…”

She saw Dylan and Charlie in her mind, just as the cock pushed inside her.

No!” She shrieked, trying to jerk away from the pain, less out from decision and more out of instinct. “No! Don’t! Don’t do it! Ahhh!

“Yeahh!! Now we’re talking.” He began thrusting against her ass.

Gianna’s vaginal walls gave way to the thrusting penis, not only doing so with little resistance, but lubricating themselves to welcome it. Gianna, always an admirer of the male form, in all its shapes and sizes, admired his just as much, even with the growing bitterness in her mouth.

“Oh, mammina,” he said, his voice quivering. “A nice, good slut mammina you are. Just like mine.”

“Get off of me! Stop it, you filthy bastard! You fuckin’ sick pervert!”

“She would come home with every guy from the neighborhood. Oh god. A sucking and fucking machine, that woman was. You should have seen it. I did, whenever I’d watch it through the door.” He spanked Gianna’s ass, doing so as if he had great familiarity with it. “I was the one boy in the neighborhood who knew what everyone else’s father’s balls looked like.”

Gianna’s mouth filled with a hundred tastes, each unique in its nuanced levels of salty tang or sweet texture.

“And as I got older, my friends’ dads’ balls became my friends’ balls. And when my friends’ balls because my enemies’ balls, I still watched, even while knowing they’d be tasting their own balls soon enough. My mom’s mouth was just warming them up for them. Then my business partner’s balls. And…”

Gianna, more than from his level of force, was beginning to understand from his speech, just how dangerous the man thrusting from behind her, groping her breast with violence, was.

A fear rose in her throat, and an outrage, and, even as it did, it all came with its own sweet glory, the likes of which, its specific contours, rose up within her the way it always did, with a spreading warmth.

She lay her body flat against the table, her mouth falling open. Her eyes shutting.

“Her big wop titties were just like yours. The neighborhood’s punching bags. She’d walk around, those big things swinging, making a joke of me. Even after I became big Giuliano’s big up-and-comer. The fellas in the neighborhood couldn’t even look me in the eyes, I swear to god. Yet all of them, no matter how much they shook when they seen me – and they all shook, believe me – still couldn’t hesitate but follow my whore mother back into that house as soon as they got the invitation. She was that good.”

Gianna’s mouth hung open, her ears hearing his words without hearing them. “Please stop,” she begged “Please. For the love of-”

He slapped her again on her ass with real aggression, waking her up from her haze. “Yes, take it mammina.”

Gianna’s eyes shot wide.

“Take your little boy’s dick.”

Dylan and Charlie again appeared before her and she winced.

“Oh, mommy!”

She saw it as if it were coming from Dylan’s mouth. She shook her head. He could see it from above her. She did it, shaking the idea that her son’s, or anybody’s son, could ever think in such a way about their own mother. She knew that this man, beyond being a violent thug, must also be a pervert of sorts. It was the only thing which made sense to her. And in realizing it, she could shake the unease and pseudo-sickness, and let herself fall into the pleasure, again shutting her eyes.

“Oh yes, mommy!” His thrusting picked up in speed, and she, being an expert, knew what was coming. And in response, she came as well.

They orgasmed against each other. He pushed into her ass, and she pushed her ass into his crotch. His palm gripped her giant right breast for dear life, just as dearly as she gripped the table below her with both clutching hands. His big strong feet stood still and firm next to her fluttering toes, which she dragged along the sticky floor as if it were those toes traced the waves of pleasure.

To Giana, orgasm was unity, and she thought any woman foolish who didn’t know this simple and basic truth. It was love and men gave it freely, as long as you invited them to. And, even if they didn’t require an invitation, like the big Loverboy behind her, it was unity all the same.

She lay there, awash in the afterglow of it all. It was a wonderful, placid peace.

And then he spoke, and she felt a ripple in her calm: “Two sons, you say?”

She winced again.

“Well then,” he said, his tone rising with his horrible grin. “That just means one for each hole.”

She felt the head of his cock, it pressed firmly against the rim of her asshole. She shut her eyes, this time out of fear, and she gripped the table’s edges for dear life.

He began to thrust, and with it came that horrible tearing sensation.

And after a few moments of that sickening pain, as always, it began, one bit at a time, to subside, and all that was left, as much as she was reluctant to admit it, was the pleasure, which she fell into as she always did, without a second thought.

Charlie and Dylan appeared to her mind’s eye again. And instead of trying to shake their images loose, she lifted her hand and motioned it, brushing them away so she could continue in peace. They looked on, their eyes wide with terror. But she couldn’t muster the energy any longer. She just lay there, her mouth hanging open, letting them watch. She thanked god it was just her imagination, because if they had actually been there, she wasn’t sure it would have been any different.

Charlie came up the stoop, the smell of his house wafting through its doorway at him as he approached it. He knew his house had a smell to it, one that his friends would often note, one like old fruit and sometimes like burnt peanut butter, but he never knew what that meant.

He opened the front door with a smile on his face. Next to his hip, he clutched a big brown envelope. Gianna’s smile went wide when she saw him. She was already smiling as she heard the front door open from the kitchen, but that smile only grew wider when he came around the corner, and she saw him standing at the front door.

He saw her standing there, her white tank top, braless beneath, pantless wearing thong panties.

She didn’t know it was a thing she did. Charlie didn’t know it either, assuming it was just the way she smiled when she saw everyone. Only Dylan knew better.

Charlie threw his envelope on the kitchen table. Gianna looked at it. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Read it and weep, mom.”

Her heart sank for a solitary moment, before finding buoyancy. Again, this happened below her own conscious awareness, not knowing why clever quips like that always gave her dread. It was Charlie’s face, his darling smile, which not only made the dread fade, but made it become ridiculous. She didn’t have the wherewithal to know that if it wasn’t Charlie’s face that made the quip, the dread wouldn’t have subsided, and in fact would have been only the beginning.

She grabbed the envelope, and Charlie smiled as she pulled it open.

She looked at the page. Her eyes went bright and wide, just as he was expecting.

“My gosh, you’re a dynamo!” she said. “Mommy’s proud.”

He smiled, not knowing what that meant, but being assured that it was a good thing all the same.

“Oh my god,” she reached across the table, grabbing in him in her arms. “Where’d you get so smart from? I know it wasn’t from mommy.”

Charlie felt his mother’s warmth, and he adored it there against himself. She kissed him on his cheeks, both of them, and he enjoyed that too, smiling awkwardly as she did. “Geeze, mom. I didn’t win a nobel peace prize.”

Her kisses stopped. “You will one day,” she said, thrusting hard against him for another squeeze.

He enjoyed the warmth, but above that, enjoyed something else even more. Something he couldn’t put his finger on, and, maybe, never wanted to.

Gianna clutched him closely. She did so, not realizing that as she did, she did it all the more to block out the day’s earlier rage that bubbled inside her. She had almost smothered all of that out of her awareness, and even memory, with the body and accomplishment of Charlie, and then, ripping apart that façade, she heard the front door creaking open.

Her eyes opened with it.

She heard his shoes coming off. Then she heard him rounding the kitchen, heading for the hallway without making a word.

Charlie felt her body leave his, and he saw her moving, deliberately, forcefully, with heavy steps, toward the kitchen’s other doorway.

She caught Dylan there at the hallway, blocking his path with her shapely form. Her breasts, swaying from the motion, swayed from the inertia, and then slowed down and stopped beneath her firm expression. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“To my room.” Charlie heard his brother’s voice, equally firm and shameless. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t think there’s a thing you gotta talk to me about?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Charlie heard his brother shuffling. “You need to say it again, slower. You say things all weird when you’re emotional.”

Charlie winced, not liking when his brother took subtle jabs at their mother whenever they had a fight. He didn’t care what the reason, it never seemed right to him to talk to her that way.

“Are you going to play stupid for much longer?” she responded. “I don’t have all day to explain what we both know.”

Charlie felt a smile form again, enjoying his mom’s cleverness, especially in light of Dylan’s attempt to make her seem as unclever as possible.

“Move, mom,” was Dylan’s only response.

He must have taken a step, because Gianna stepped out further into the hallway. Charlie saw her body ripple all over, felt a way about it, and then felt those feelings fade as quickly as they came, the same way they always did, quickly enough to avoid his deliberate awareness.

“Do you think I like getting phone calls about you scrapping at school again?” She again stutter stepped, jiggled, and then continued. “Wait! You think I like hearing that my boy can’t keep out of trouble?”

“He started it,” Dylan said with disinterest.

“Oh, now you understand what I was- wait!” Again she stutter stepped and jiggled.

“Okay,” Dylan said, his hand coming up for a second, visible through the doorway, then disappearing again. “You don’t like what you hear about me. That’s fine. I don’t like what I hear about you. Do you see me-“

Charlie stood there, startled by the comment, not understanding. Yet as he watched, he saw half of his mom’s face, its expression frozen in quiet rage. “You didn’t hear anything about me-“

“I did.”

“-and you’re just trying to be smart. Don’t-

“I did.”

“-get fresh with me because of what to-“

“Shut the fuck up!”

Her face, the half of it that Charlie could see, exploded into enraged horror, but only after a moment of stunned silence. Slowly she opened her mouth. “What did you…”

“Shut the fuck up, you dumb slut.”

It was the intensity, mixed with the comfortable sure-headedness, in which he said it which shocked Charlie the most. It wouldn’t have occurred to him to say that to any woman, even if she were a slut. To hear it said about his own mother, by his brother no less, was not only shocking to him, but infuriating on top of it. The vulgarity and disrespect of it was one thing, but what made it worse was its slander.

Charlie reflected on this further later in his bedroom, his face burning, as he stared up at his ceiling, with the shameful thought that maybe people out there were hearing his brother’s accusations against their mother. Shame was replaced by anger, and that anger with rage at reflecting on how much of a screw-up Dylan was, and how volatile an element it was to have in the house, where its consequences could affect him or his mother so severely. They weren’t like Dylan. They were better. Though Charlie tried to steer clear of such thoughts, they were rushing to him now out of anger.

And it was because of this, that when he heard the front door shut, and Dylan’s bedroom door opening to reclaim the living room in light of their mother’s absence, that Charlie shot to his bedroom door, and thrust it open, red-faced, staring directly into Dylan’s confusion, both their doors within the darkness at the end of the hallway.

“What’s up?” Dylan said, sheepishly.

“She’s your mom, dude!” is what Charlie said, expecting his brother to get it.

Dylan apparently did get it, but it seemed to take a moment. His blank, sheepish expression slowly gave way to a smile, which widened to the edges of his face. “Don’t tell me you’re still this naïve.”

“Oh, because you’re such a big badass, huh? I’m just not cool enough to understand.” This was another thing which chapped Charlie in his deepest sensitivities. He was resenting being seen as a goody two-shoes for the crime of not being a screw-up. He knew it, in simpler form, that people like his brother, screw-ups, always found a way to derive virtue, or even to mythologize, their own delinquency. He was growing tired of it.

“I never said you weren’t good enough, Charlie. That’s not the problem. The problem is you’re fuckin’ blind.”

“Blind…”

Dylan’s head rolled back, an awkward smile on his face. Suddenly, the back of one hand fell with a slap into the palm of the other. “Have you ever seen the way she dresses?” The sentence started out at full volume, but lowered to a whisper by the end, as if she was still in the house.

Charlie just stared, but a sudden twitch which pulled his head back, however slightly, gave Dylan the poise to continue.

“Do you see your friend’s moms dressed like that, with their tits just hanging out? If you do, who? And if you can name them, can you tell me what people say about their moms? Do they talk about them like they’re church ladies? Do they, Charlie?”

Charlie stared. Suddenly, his bewilderment turned to unarticulated anger.

Dylan continued so as to not lose momentum: “Did you see what she wore for Halloween?”

“She was a witch!” Charlie blurted out. “What’s wrong with that?”

Dylan leaned forward, his smile menacing, his voice somehow getting even lower. “How many witches you know can’t even look in their cauldron because their giant tits are blocking the way?”

Charlie was aghast. “How is that her fault? She was born that way.”

“I agree. Born with big tits. Born to show them off every chance she gets.”

 “That’s not-“

“And the trip to Florida. How did that even qualify as a bathing suit?”

“It’s the beach, what is she supposed to wear?”

“She can look around at what the normal women, the non-whores, were wearing, right? The ones that you saw too and now suddenly can’t even remember… You usually can’t see their pussy lips, can you Charlie? And her New Year’s Eve dress, Jesus! Everyone could see her panties. Did you see how high the slit was?”

Charlie had backed up into his doorway.

“Everything she does, Charlie, she does it to get attention. She’s starved for it. No matter how much she gets, she needs more of it. Always. And it doesn’t stop at attention from far away either. She needs more than that. You don’t understand, I’m sorry to say, because, like I said, you’re naïve. I don’t know what to tell you if you haven’t seen it already, but it’s true.” He had said it all as if he were chastising an employee, and now stood there, staring directly into his brother’s eyes. He then turned to leave, stopped and stepped back, again looking into his eyes, and said “The sooner you learn to accept it, the better for you.” Then he turned back and continued down the hallway.

Charlie stood there, his back against his doorway, watching Dylan as he went. Then Dylan disappeared around the corner. Charlie stared at the empty hallway, and the empty bits of the living room and kitchen he could see from where he stood, and then he heard the door open and shut. He stood there, alone with himself, staring. And then, after the numbness began to fade, he felt it with horror. It was a sense of dread. And rather than make him think or consider anything, all it did was pin him in place. He stayed there for a long while before retreating back into his room.

“You saw ‘em bouncing there, didn’t you, Charlie?”

Charlie didn’t even look at his brother, not being able to.

“It was like they were on trampolines, wasn’t it?”

Charlie didn’t answer, but he knew exactly what his brother was referring to. Gianna, standing on the basement step, resting her arms on the banister, had told them that the pizza was coming. Charlie stared, not at her face, but at her gigantic, almost cartoonishly large cleavage, as she spoke. And then, that cleavage shuddered as she heard the doorbell ring. Those giant tits jiggled all the way up the stairs and he stood there now, looking at the empty space where she once was.

“At least the pizza guy will get quite the show.”

Charlie didn’t realize it, but he was clenching his hand into a fist. And when he heard the front door creak open, and he heard his mother’s greeting to that random minimum wage worker (“Hello! Hello! You delivering pizzas to study for a role? Jesus, you’re gorgeous”), his fist only clenched tighter.

“Uh, it’ll be-“ The delivery guy’s voice was rough, either nervous or barely post-pubescent.

“I can only tip fifteen percent. Money’s tight. I’m sorry, I know how much tipping matters. I know it from experience. But…” she sounded busy with her wallet. “How about this? I give you fifteen percent, and then a hug to cover the rest. Will that be fine?”

“Uh… yeah… that’ll be…” There was the sound of two bodies meeting. “…fine…. Just fine…”

“Oh,” she said. “These shoulders. Wow, these shoulders. My god… you guys… The boss must never bring his wife around with you guys working for him. Every delivery guy we get is just…”

“You could see her thong, right?”

Charlie turned to see his brother grinning at him, only half with mirth, the other half being knowing disappointment.

“If you could see it, he can see it up there too. You both have eyes.”

Charlie’s face didn’t change, but he clenched his fist harder.

“And you know what it feels like to hug her. The feeling of those…” his smiled widened. “…those things against your chest?”

Charlie’s lip quivered.

“Again… if you can feel them…” He stopped speaking, but he motioned upward toward the ceiling with his head.

Charlie said nothing, and when Gianna brought the pizza downstairs with a wide smile, it was Dylan who dug in with hardy enthusiasm. Charlie barely had an appetite, especially after seeing his mom’s tits, their wild cleavage, hanging over the pizza, their size a potential and looming threat to it.

As the days past, this process, this irritating driving home of the thesis, continued.

“Look at her ass…” Dylan shook his head. “You can practically see through those pants. You can see her…” His lips smacked together, and his head rolled back. “You can see her panties. A pink g-string.”

Gianna walked ahead blissfully, unaware of what her son was whispering about her from behind. Charlie only walked along, seeing, noticing, but failing to internalize, his wall strong, but its bricks coming loose with every volley of truth.

Another day: “Did you see that douche? You ever see movies from the eighties? The way that they dress? That was that guy.”

Charlie didn’t speak.

“And he has the nerve to stare at mom’s tits like that.”

Charlie continued to bite his tongue.

Dylan’s expression turned to a grin. “And she let him…”

He let the thought end that way, relying on its subtlety, its lightness of touch, for it to sink in.

Another day: “3…2…”

Gianna, walking up the driveway, turned her head to look back at Mr. Brown, the neighbor, seductively. She turned back around and continued up the driveway.

“Right on cue,” Dylan said, staring at her through the window as she came nearer. “And the walk. Watch the walk. That’s part of how she gets them. She has a million techniques, but the walk is one of the best.” He continued talking even as she neared the door inside. “It makes her ass wobble perfectly for them.” The door opened. She came in. “It’s unignorable.”

“What’s unignorable?” she said, a big smile on her face.

Dylan tilted his head. “Oh nothing. Charlie just said the weather looks great outside.”

“It’s amazing,” she said, taking off her sunglasses.

“It is. But I told him to watch for that cloud. It’s dark and going to burst any second. It’s unignorable.”

 She kicked off her shoes at their heels, holding the banister. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky out there. Right, Charlie?” She shot Charlie a wink.

It continued like this. It got to the point where Charlie’s only defense (because screaming never helped), was ignoring it. He scrolled through his phone as Dylan spoke on the couch next to him, objectifying their mother as he watched her with intent eyes. She walked up and down the lawn, her body jiggling, as she mowed the grass in her tiny shorts, which hugged her ass impossibly. The neighborhood watched with Dylan. “They should be paying us for that,” he said. He looked over. “Hey Charlie?”

Charlie said nothing. He scrolled through Tik-Toks. His scrolling, like the scrolling of so many other young men, was tainted by his hormones. Young women, their bodies shapely and tightly/scantily-clad, danced onto the screen for mere moments, repeated themselves a few times, before sliding away, out into the gigantic pile of beautiful distractions which floated through an abyss of collective thought.

This offered the distraction from his brother that he needed. Another body came up, a gorgeous brunette, her tits large, jiggling, and free. Charlie adjusted himself, and, for only a moment (a terrifying moment), the young woman on the screen, probably due to a stray glare obscuring her true appearance, suddenly appeared to Charlie as his mother.

The woman appeared to him as she was, and when she did, the terror left, leaving him with satisfying relief. Thank God, he thought, taking in a deep breath. The real slut is back. The ones who parade themselves like dessert for fame, exploiting their own excess flesh for it.

And then he froze.

icebunny97, with her trademark smile, re-danced her little dance. Then the video started again from the jump, her dance eternal. And Charlie stared at it. Stared at her body, its near-nudity, the young woman’s contentment in that. Her happiness. Her leaning into what she was. Her tits gigantic (though not as big as Gianna’s).

His mind searched for how his own mother was different. And though he rolled up his sleeve and reached in full-heartedly for an answer, he came up with his palm bare. He stared into it, astonished.

He shut off his phone.

“Oh god, look at her.” Dylan leaned into the backrest of the couch, his arms crossed over it, staring at their mutual mother. “Oh, she’s- yeah, mom. Bend down. Good idea, with half the world watching.”

Charlie looked out at her, her body bent over, picking at a rock in the grass. Behind her, the neighbor stared into her ass like it was a miracle. Charlie winced, wondering if that’s what his own expression looked like as he gazed down into his phone. He looked back at his mother. Her cleavage, large and unobscured, hung down, the white of her tits contrasting with the long black line of her cleavage, expressing their size, so impossibly large they nearly demanded eyes. Charlie’s gaze loomed over them, that mysterious feeling coming back.

He looked away.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dylan said, whispering into his fists. “Get back up, mom. Show’s over Mr. Robinson. Get back to gardening, you faggot.”

Charlie could hear the wound spring that was his brother’s voice. He knew it was Gianna’s body which wound it that tight, first through its physicality, but also through its ironies and implications, which colored Dylan’s world with it. It colored Charlie’s world as well. And it was only now, however slightly, that he was accepting this to be true. He shook his head suddenly, as if to physically shake the thought.

Dylan had noticed, recognizing the gesture in himself once. He watched his brother with the corner of his eye, saying nothing. Then he looked back out at the yard. “Oh, mower’s out. Pull the chord again, mom. Yeah, like that. Harder. Harder. Yeah, so your whole body shakes. Exactly, just like that.”

Charlie’s instincts told him to look out that window. He did not. He only sat there, blushing. When he heard the mower kick once again into life, he only looked down at the black screen of his phone as it lay there in his lap.

He deleted Tik Tok later that day.

He had downloaded Tik Tok again in a moment of weakness, and just as another beautiful young woman found her way within the confines of his phone screen, her giant ass jiggling to the beat of a rap song, Gianna had walked into the kitchen.

“Wow,” she said. “Will you get a look at her.”

Charlie dropped his phone.

“Back in my day, there was a place you had to go to get a show like that.”

Charlie scrambled with his phone, trying to turn off its screen. “M-mom, I was…”

Gianna ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about it, sweety. It’s natural to wanna look at beauties like that. Mommy don’t judge.”

She walked off toward the counter.

Charlie watched her from behind, her near-nude ass, decorated only by a thong, jiggled with each step. She turned to look at the clock on the wall, and Charlie could see the absolute size of her tits within her t-shirt. “Whoah, it’s almost time to head out. Better get going. Don’t want to upset Ms. Punctual again.”

She moved to the doorway, Charlie watched her, and then she froze right on its precipice. She turned to look at her son.

He sat there, feeling exposed, a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Say Charlie,” she started. “Care to help mommy here?”

He had trouble speaking. When his voice finally came back to him, it came out dry. “help…”

“Yeah. Come on,” she said, waving him in her direction with a head gesture. She left the kitchen. He sat there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway she once occupied, looking back at him with that smile. Then he slowly got up and followed.

Dylan watched from the couch, first seeing his mom’s ass turn and disappear into her room, only for Charlie to exit the kitchen behind her, and walk sheepishly to her room himself.

Dylan smiled to himself.

The door closed.

“So,” Gianna said, her beautiful body flanked by two empty dresses. “Which one then?”

Charlie looked at both of them, easily imagining her body filling either. The one on the right was a garish red, and it had so many open places where Gianna’s flesh would peek through. He imagined her in it, and a wave of ecstasy washed over him, one polluted with guilt. Then he looked at the other dress. It was also dangerously form fitting, but also fuller, with less spaces to see through. He lifted his finger, pointing at it. “That one,” he said, nearly stumbling over his own words in his attempt to get them out.

She lifted the dress in question, leaning forward to examine it from the front. Charlie stared at her breasts. “Really?” she said, after a moment considering. She leaned back into an erect position and started to giggle to herself. “I guess I just brought you in here to confirm I liked this one more.” She jostled the red dress. “Yeah,” she said, glaring at it with eyes of pure love. “This is the dress.” She threw the black one in a heap next to Charlie. He stared at it, an empty husk. “Not that mommy doesn’t trust your judgement, babe.”

She then hung the other dress by its coat hanger on the mirror. Charlie stared at it as if it were some dark omen.

Then he heard the sound of fabric against skin. He turned to see his mom’s naked back, her white shirt up in the air, and then held before her. She dropped it and reached down for the waist of her underwear.

Charlie looked away, the way he always did when his mom was changing. She saw the edge of her heel in his peripheral as she stepped over the waist of her panties. Then another heel, and he knew she was free of them, standing there, just a few feet from where he sat on the bed.

His flesh tingled, and he looked at himself in the mirror, half of his reflection obscured by the dress which hung from it.

Suddenly, an impulse coming over him, he looked over at his mother.

He almost gave himself away sucking in air, as before him, sitting there unceremoniously, was his own mother’s bent over ass. Her meaty butterfly lips stared back at him from beneath her butt-crack. Charlie looked at them with shock, aroused by just how meaty they were. She looked up, seeing him staring in the mirror. She said nothing, only grabbing her discarded clothes, walking to the hamper, and throwing them in.

She then walked, nude as the day she was born, with Charlie watching, and she got on her tip-toes to grab her dress. She then came back down to earth. “This is going to be beautiful,” she said. “It fits me perfectly.” She held it next to her nudity, her giant tits unignorable and open for Charlie to glare at, her piercing accentuating her nipple. “Don’t you think?”

She stared at her son. He said nothing back.

She looked back at the dress. “Mommy’s going to be a star tonight. Or…” she looked over to Charlie for an answer. “What do you call it… a Tik Tokker?”

Charlie gulped.

“Yeah,” she said. “Like a Tik Tokker. I’ll be doing one of those dances.”

She began to move, doing so as if performing for a camera, doing it with surprising amounts of competency, as if dredging up some hidden skill from time’s past. Charlie watched, her pierced tits jiggling, her ass, as she spun around, coming into view, and her twerking once or twice (he lost count) before him. She spun around to the front, and then hopped up on one foot, her face cute, her lips pouting. “Yeah,” she repeated. “Forget cutting hair. I’m going to be a Tik Tokker. Imagine that?”

Charlie stared for a second, then he shook his head.

The doorbell rung, penetrating the moment.

Gianna looked up at her alarm clock. “Oh shit. She’s here. Right on the dot too.”

She de-hangered the dress and Charlie watched as she let it slide over her naked flesh. Within just an instant, she was clothed, looking like his mother usually did. And it was in this moment, for the first time ever, that he admitted to himself: This isn’t how normal moms dress.

The doorbell rang again.

“Oh Amy,” she said. “Calm down, sweetheart.”

She looked over her shoulder, trying to see the zipper in her mirror. She reached for it, failing. Then she spun around, looking at Charlie with doe eyes. “Can you…” she said.

He got up, slowly, approaching her slowly, not even picking up speed when he heard the doorbell ringing again and his brother calling to them from the living room to answer it.

Charlie grabbed the zipper, feeling the backs of his thumbs against her soft flesh. She zipped her up, and even in his upper-peripheral, could see her body, its limitless voluptuousness, being pulled into shape by the dress.

“Thanks babe,” she said earnestly without even looking at him, then she reached for her door.

When she opened it, Amy, looking just as scrumptious stood there.

She looked at Gianna, then looked past her to Charlie. Charlie couldn’t tell if the beautiful woman wore that look of vague confusion on her face always, or if he had been caught by the outside world doing something wrong.

“You ready, Gianna?” Amy asked, his mother’s name sounding strange as ever.

“I’m always ready,” Gianna said.

Amy rolled her eyes without moving them, and Gianna turned around, kissing Charlie on his cheek within an instant. Charlie watched the two beautiful bodies disappear into the hallway, their shapes together like some impossible alchemical multiplication up on each other, the likes of which had no place occupying such plain environments as their house.

Charlie sat there, listening to them talk down the hallway, through the living room, at the front door, within the open doorway, then the stoop, then the door shutting. He sat there for a moment even after that. Then, after a bit, he got up. He went for the door.

Just as he turned out into the hallway, he saw his brother there, looking at him with a grin on his aggravating face.

“So,” he said. “How was it?”

“How was what?” Charlie tried to get past him.

“Oh, tightlipped,” he said, stepping before him. “Guess I’ll have to ask your little friend.”

Charlie furrowed his brow, not understanding.

Dylan looked down at Charlie’s crotch. “How was it, little guy?”

Charlie looked down. His throbbing cock stared up at him from within his gym shorts.

“She puts on quite the show, doesn’t she?”

At that statement, Charlie felt a rush go through him, and, to his dishonor, his cock felt the same way. It throbbed.

Dylan tilted his head with a smile, not believing it could be so easy.

He looked up at Charlie.

Charlie’s face went beet red, and he tried to push back.

“Relax,” Dylan said. “Relax!”

Charlie pushed harder, his socks sliding against the floor.

“You think I’m not going to jerk off to her myself?”

Charlie stopped.

Dylan’s hold became limp. “Especially with her going out there to get fucked nice and hard.” There was an emphasis on the word fuck, one which was designed to emphasize that fuck not just for its emotional value, but to establish it as a fact.

Fucked, Charlie thought. She was going out there to get fucked.

Charlie had an open-mindedness to the thought, only being there for a moment, until the blackness of his mind was populated by a young man. He could imagine his blonde head, his square jaw and forehead, and his confident gaze. He could imagine his hairstyle, and the collar of his shirt, and the smell of cologne on his collar. And he could imagine that same young man, without pants, between the leg of his mother, fucking her with rabbit-like intensity, as her tits jiggled below him in some seedy motel somewhere.

Charlie shut his eyes and thrashed his head. “No!” he said.

“Yes, Charlie,” Dylan said, as if it were an intervention.

“No!”

“Yes…”

As they wrestled, both physically and verbally in that hallway, the thrusting motion of the young man within Charlie’s mind got more intense, matching the intensity of the moment. It rose, his vulgar pumping, the flesh of both their bodies vibrating with it, for as long as Charlie fought, but as he began to get tired, of wrestling and objecting, the thrusts became less frequent, less intense, and with less vulgarity. He felt himself calming down, even if just for the sake of his own sanity, until the young man were just laying on top of Gianna, looking down at her, sweating and breathing hard, as she looked up at him, a smile on her face.

“She’s going to get fucked, Charlie. Nice and fucked.”

Charlie shook his head.

“And we’re both gong to jerk off to it. That’s our right. She’s given us no choice. We should at least get to enjoy it.”

Charlie was still shaking his head.

Dylan grabbed his shoulders and distanced himself from him. He stared into his face.

Charlie, after a moment of silence, slowly opened his eyes to his brother’s waiting gaze.

Dylan stared at him, still silent, wanting true calm.

Then he spoke: “Here Charlie, let me show you.”

Charlie followed Dylan from behind. The world moved past on the street and sidewalk, making the previous moments within the house seem surreal. Making the whole situation, including their reason for being here, surreal, so much so that Charlie wondered if he only imagined that moment.

Dylan suddenly turned, pushing against the door of the corner store with his shoulder.

He looked back at Charlie. “Case number one.”

He pushed inside, then he stood within, holding the door open for Charlie. Charlie was slow to respond, but Dylan stood there, the door open, with uncharacteristic patience. He didn’t even look. He waited until Charlie’s hand found the door. Then he let go and walked within, walking directly toward the clerk.

The man looked at the two of them, seeming somewhat embarrassed, his eyes within his Indian face.

“Khujar,” Dylan said. “If it isn’t my best buddy, Khujar.”

“Yes sir,” Khujar replied with his accent. “What will it be, sir?”

“Well, I’m sure whatever it will be, Khujar, my friend, we’ll be paying for it in cash.” Dylan leaned slowly onto the man’s counter. He looked the man square in the face. “Cash, and not…” Dylan’s smile formed in the corner of his mouth. “…not tits.”

Khujar blushed.

Charlie stopped breathing.

Dylan smiled at him a moment longer, then he motioned toward his brother with his head. “Tell him,” he said.

Khujar stared.

“Tell him what happened.”

It took a while, but Charlie stood there, his mouth hanging open, as Khujar finally began telling the story.

“Bra or no bra?” Dylan asked.

“First with bra.”

“Then you made her show you more?”

“Yes,” he said, after an apprehensive moment. He looked down.

“She was pretty drunk, wasn’t she? And needed more beers? Tnt tnt tnt.” Dylan shook his head. “Not very nice to my mother, Khujar, were you?”

“No sir.”

Dylan stared at him for a moment, seeing in his face, both regret and reminiscing arousal. Dylan could see his own smile in the white’s of the man’s eye. “Did you touch them?”

Charlie felt like he was about to faint.

Khujar didn’t say anything.

“How did they feel, my friend? Feel nice and soft?”

Charlie didn’t think the man would answer, then he began to nod his head. The silence was far worse than description which could be given. The sight of the Indian man standing there, roughly where the three of them stood now, groping Gianna’s giant tits feverishly, pushing against her to do so, pushing to make her let him continue even as she tried to get decent again, get her beers and go.

“How’d they taste, Khujar?”

Charlie’s gasp was audible.

They stood in front of Leo’s uncle only a half hour later. It wasn’t enough time for Charlie to process what he heard.

“Oh yeah, three, four times a month.”

Charlie looked up.

Steam billowed before the man’s black face. “Your mom can’t stop herself. It’s like an addiction.”

“It should be a schedule one drug, shouldn’t it?” Dylan said.

“Shit. Whenever I have a fight with the old lady, it’s like your mom has a sixth sense or something, I look at my phone and she’s giving me a call. Nice, easy white bitch. Big ass titties. I can choke her, pull her hair, spank the bitch. She likes it all. It’s a good way to get out my aggression, that’s for sure.”

Charlie watched the man’s towel on his lap as he spoke about Gianna and his escapades with her, the towel began to lift, tenting upward by an extremely thick support. Old white men, their bodies more frail, watched, listening in to the story, tents, much smaller, forming in their own towels.

Leo’s uncle lowered his cigar. “Oh,” he said, as if excited to share something. “Guess what she calls me?”

“I can only imagine,” Dylan said, the tip of his tongue then reaching the roof of his mouth as if to say something that started with “N.”

“Get this.” The man leaned forward. “She calls me daddy.”

Charlie held his nose shut. He had already been nauseous from the day’s events. Standing in an alley, next to a Chinese restaurant’s trashcan, wasn’t helping.

“Right there?” Dylan said, pointing at the wall.

“You goddamn right, right there.”

“And she wasn’t being raped?”

Charlie winced.

“No siree. She wasn’t. I thought she was for a minute. I looked up. She just woke me with her moans and the slapping. I stared, thinking it was a crackhead getting fucked. But when I recognized who it was, I went to get up. She musta heard me, cuz she turned and looked at me. She looked scared. But when she saw it was me, she started to laugh. Then her laugh turned to a moan and she just stared at me, with her mouth hanging open, as the guy fucked her there.”

“Were her tits jiggling hard?”

“Harder than I ever seen tits jiggle.”

“Then what happened?”

Frank shrugged. “The fella came in her. I thought she’d need a tissue or something, and I had one laying next to me, so I reached for it. But by the time I looked back, she had her panties up and her dress back on and she was headed inside.”

“They both went in to finish their meal, I guess?”

“No,” Frank said. “Only she did. The guy just left.”

They both walked down the alley, Dylan with confidence, Charlie in a daze. Frank whistled in the distance behind them, his voice echoing off the buildings.

“So you see,” Dylan said, walking with his shoulders pulled back and his hands in his pockets. “Our mom is no angel, Charlie.”

“It’s not real.”

Dylan looked at him.

“None of it. It’s not real. You… you’re playing a prank on me. You…” Charlie felt his knees growing weak beneath him.

Dylan looked away, still walking.

It wasn’t until Charlie stopped that Dylan himself, hearing the footsteps cease, stopped and turned around. His hands were still in his pockets. He watched his brother shaking his head. He shook his own head, then he pulled his wallet from his pocket. “I didn’t want to do this, Charlie. But you’ve given me no choice. You’re going to have to learn the hard way.

He pulled something from his wallet. It looked like a loose square of paper. Charlie had no chance of knowing what it was, being too young, but when some of the image of this polaroid picture flashed before his eyes, he stared at it intently.

The photo settled in his brother’s fingers.

His mother, much younger, with no clothing on, lay on the bed, her tits gigantic, falling over her chest, her eyes in a haze. Her legs hung open, the neck of a beer bottle placed within her pussy. Hands held her feet up by her ankles. Cocks floated around her from out the surrounding darkness.

Charlie whimpered, his bottom lip quivering visibly. Dylan looked away. But he didn’t drop the photo.

“How…” was all Charlie could muster. On his mom’s giant tits, the word “cum slut” was written in marker. “Cum…” Charlie began murmuring, not realizing what he was about to read.

Dylan still looked away. “I didn’t want to believe it either. I know what that’s like.” He swallowed, then took a deep breath. “I heard stories about this legendary night. The night of the party. I thought it was bullshit. I don’t know why I was so skeptical. I just couldn’t even imagine it being true, I guess.”

Charlie looked at Dylan, who stared off and down the alley, seeming to remember as he spoke.

“They said she wasn’t even wearing panties as she danced. A few of them noticed how drunk she was, so they started groping her. They thought she’d fight back. They were ready for it. Instead… she just smiled. They celebrated every time she let them do something new. They told me they did so many things. Many of those things they don’t even remember. They just remember it was a lot. They shoved beer bottles inside her. They took photos. They laughed and they spit on her. Then…” He was silent for a moment. “…then they ran a train on her.” He laughed one lone syllable. Then he continued. “Twenty guys…” He gulped. “Twenty loads inside her…” He was silent again, for longer now. When he began to speak again, it came suddenly. “That was nine months before I was born.”

Dylan turned to his brother. He lifted he photo. “Look,” he said, and he pointed toward their mother’s pussy. “Look real hard.”

Charlie did what he was told, squinting without realizing how submissive the action was. His squint turned to wide-eye shock when he saw cum leaking out of his mom’s pink hole and into the bottle’s embracing glass.

Charlie felt something before he knew what it was. It took him a moment for his brain to catch up with his ears, but when it had, his mouth fell open. “Dyla…”

“We’re both bastards. The two of us are, you know?”

Charlie didn’t respond.

“Neither of us have dads. I mean… we do… we just don’t know who they are. And they don’t know we’re theirs either. At least it’s unlikely they do.” He shook his head. “What kind of woman gets impregnated from a gangbang, Charlie? A slut, that’s who. That’s what being a slut means. If she’s not a slut, no one is.”

They went home that night, Charlie’s head heavy with thoughts, his mind pushing in against his cranium. He had been forced to accept so much in such little time. The world around him appeared different, its every banal detail.

When they came inside the house, Dylan said nothing. They both went to their bedrooms. Charlie shifted in bed, from one shoulder to the other, trying to find sleep, but finding none. His mind was electric with the various sounds he heard from his mother’s room throughout the years. It was all so obvious now. So obvious he had realized he wasn’t just mistaken regarding his mom’s character, but wilfully delusional about it.

His cock throbbed in his pajama bottoms, imagining her body, imagining the stranger behind her. He knew she was out there somewhere, not just partying, not just crashing at Amy’s, but actively being fucked.

His heart sank, but his cock throbbed.

He could hear her. Hear the slapping against her body by greedy masculine thrusts. He shut his eyes, rolling his pillow over his head. But he still heard those sounds. And then, that’s when he realized, he was hearing them muffled.

He let the pillow fall from his ear. It rolled back into place. And once it settled, and the sound of it dulled, he realized something strange.

He lifted his head. He stared at his door, the moonlight cast across it.

“Oh god…” came from outside in a furious whisper.

Charlie’s eyes were wide.

“Yeah…” It came through the door with the soft sounds of rubbing flesh.

Charlie’s eyes were blinded by the light outside. He looked down the hall, seeing the orange light of the living room. He couldn’t see anything except for a soft, feminine foot. It was his mother, she was there. Her foot rocked back and forth.

Charlie stared at it, not believing. All of this, all he had learned, had come to him too quickly to process. Now here he was, staring at it in the flesh. He stood there for a while, losing track of time, but eventually, the courage in him to move forward came, and he did. When he did so, he felt a horrible dread rising, his cock throbbing in his pajama bottoms not helping at all, only making it all that much more confusing.

Gianna’s leg became more visible, one rising inch at a time. Charlie felt as if he wouldn’t make it. As if he’d pass out on his way there.

Then he rounded the corner, seeing her pussy, its clit adorned with its silver piercing. Her pelvis rocked back and forth. He stared at that pussy in a daze. Then, when the strength came back to him, however small, he took another step.

He froze.

His mother was there alright, and she was in the middle of sexual activity. He could be sure of that now. The irony though was that she couldn’t be sure of it. She couldn’t be sure of anything now.

Her eyes were shut tight, her mouth open in drunken stupor, as Dylan, leaning next to the couch, his pants down and his cock hard, molested his mother’s tit with the palm of his hand. “Oh fuck…” he said. He shot his head forward, and Charlie watched as he took their mom’s nipple in between his lips, lifting her giant breast with it, and began sucking.

Charlie was outraged, baffled, and exhilarated with arousal all at once. Gianna’s hand dangled there, her fingers brushing against Dylan’s hard cock. He had set her hand there, just in case she would start jerking him off in her drunkenness. It had been something she had done before. Now, her fingers just hung there. Dylan leaned forward, and, animalistically, licked his mom’s cheek and temple. He pulled his head back and spit on her face. Her eye twitched.

Charlie felt a sudden flushing anger, and he stepped forward out of impulse.

He barely got a word out when his brother turned around. They stared at each other for a moment. Then Dylan’s blank expression slowly formed into a grin. Charlie waited for him to say something, and Dylan’s mouth did indeed open, but instead of words coming out, his slowly began to push toward his mother’s face, his lips finding her nipple, and began to suck. The pressure of the sucking distorted a third of her breast, but the rest of it was so overwhelmingly massive that it failed to be disturbed by the pressure. Dylan stared Charlie in his eyes as he sucked.

He then pulled his head back, an arcing rope of saliva hung between the grinning lips and the expressionless nipple, and it fell to the floor. Dylan’s grin widened. “Now’s your chance, brother.”

Charlie nearly stumbled. He shook his head, mouthing “what?”

“You wanna feel how these bad boys feel?” Dylan shook his mother’s gigantic breasts. “She’s too drunk to stop you now.”

Charlie didn’t answer. His silence shocked him, especially after realizing why he couldn’t speak.

“Come on,” Dylan said, and then he gave Gianna’s tits a rough squeeze. Their flesh spilled through his fingers like pudding.”

“Stop!” Charlie said, pushing forward with his hand before him. “She’ll wake up!” He stopped. His mouth fell open. He only stared at Gianna.

He reflected on it, and felt the pain rising at the reflection. This was what he was worried about. About her waking up. Not about her dignity. Not about stopping his brother’s cruelty or avoiding that stomach churning strangeness of the sight. No, he was terrified she would wake up.

Dylan either couldn’t see the guilt and humiliation on his brother’s face, or didn’t care. He looked down, then he reached toward Gianna’s crotch. Charlie shot forward a half-step, again to say something, but when Dylan’s hand met that pussy, nothing came out.

Dylan began fingering it. “Look. Look how wet she gets when she’s drunk. It’s like she’s supposed to get fucked now. Like it’s her mating habit.” His finger pushed in and out, violating her hole while her eyes were shut tight, her pussy lips being pushed to either side. “You can tell by how thick these lips are, she’s been ran through. Ran through hard.” Dylan’s expression was one halfway between study and ecstasy. He opened her lips. Charlie stared at the smooth pinkness which sat between them. “But her pussy is still so nice.” He said it as a breathy exhalation. “And so tight.”

This happened for long enough, that Charlie began to become complacent in it, accepting it in a strange way, while also somehow feeling comfortable that it wouldn’t escalate. Then Dylan got up. It was the way his hard cock swung about which alarmed Charlie the most. His face showed as much, but his lips said nothing.

“Time to get my dick wet,” Dylan said. He got on the other side of his mother, and lifted her leg by her thigh. The heel of her foot fell on his shoulder. Then he thrusted his cock outward, toward the same pussy he just finished penetrating with his fingers.

“No!” Charlie screamed. “You can’t.”

Dylan looked over, genuinely startled for a moment. But after finding his bearings, he began to grin again. “What’s the matter, Charlie? Still trying to play the white knight?”

Charlie felt something acute and angular run through him.

“Look at her,” Dylan said. “What are you trying to defend.” He looked down at the beautiful, pathetic husk of a woman, then back at his brother. “Have you learned nothing?”

They stared at each other for moments longer. Then Dylan turned his head, he looked back at his mother. He then pushed his cock forward.

“No!” Charlie said again, his breathing heavy.

Dylan pulled back. He looked at Charlie with a smile. “You just can’t accept it, can you?” He thrust forward again.

“No! You can’t!”

“Can’t what? Shove my hard cock inside her tight wet pussy and fill her up with cum? Why not?”

“She’s our mom!”

“She’s a slut!” He began to push forward.

“Dylan!”

Dylan stopped, the smile on his face still strong. He got up, and Charlie felt a huge relief waft over him. He stood there, staring at his brother, manhandling his cock, pulling it up toward his belly button, letting it fall into erect position. He looked down at his mother. He tugged himself. “I guess you’ve won this time, Charlie.” He still stood there, jerking off.

Then, with just as much suddenness as when he got up to fuck her, he moved toward her face, his balls tightening within an instant, and without making a sound, a thick ropey ooze shot from his penis tip landing on their mother’s face.

Charlie again went to speak, moving forward a few steps now. But all it did was give him a closer look at his mom’s face as his brother’s cum dripped in a hearty doses onto the same cheek and eye Dylan had been licking earlier. “Aww, fuck,” Dylan whispered to himself, his expression losing definition.

Charlie stood there, doing nothing, feeling as if it was too late. As the ropes subsided, Dylan then slapped his cockhead against Gianna’s unconscious face. He grabbed one of her tits as if it were a giant towel and rubbed his cock against it, wiping it clean.

He then looked at his brother, barely embarrassed, even with the post-nut clarity setting in. He put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie looked at it. “Once upon a time, I used to feel bad about doing this to her.”

Charlie looked up at him.

“But even that fades.” He patted his brother on the shoulder, then he continued to the hallway, heading to his room, presumably to sleep. And Charlie knew, he would sleep like a baby.

Charlie went to the kitchen, wetted a towel, and came back, cleaning up his mom, wiping the cum from her face and tits. He tried, as he rubbed those tits, to not look at them, not liking how good it made him feel to see them change shape based on the pressure he applied, or how his fingers felt when they brushed against those walls of softness, taking care to avoid her nipple piercings.

He then stood up there, the stiffening rag in his fingers. He stared at her, watching her as she slept peacefully. Surprised she could, wondering how much alcohol it would take to make someone into something so compliant to will and touch. Her body lay perfect below him. His cock was hard. It poked through his underwear, looming over his mother’s head. All it would take was for him to poke his hips out more, and his cock would touch her face. The image of Dylan’s poking pelvis, his cock nearing that pussy, came to Charlie at the thought. The guilt came, then the sudden rush of arousal at how close Dylan was getting.

He looked down, seeing the pussy in question, now unaccosted except for her piercing, which glimmered in the sun.

He stared at it for a moment, feeling his arousal growing. He then, unbelievably to himself, his face flush with the rising inability to stop, began to move toward that pussy. It got bigger in his line of sight as he approached it. He got so close he could smell it. He didn’t know what he would do when he got there but…

Gianna stirred.

Charlie got up. He turned around and he rushed to his bedroom. He fell beneath his sheets, wrapping them against himself. And, despite his raging erection, he somehow found the ability to shut his eyes. It must have been the exhaustion which fought against his adrenaline, as he eventually found sleep.

The next morning, Charlie came out into the hallway. His mom’s foot was still there on the couch, letting him know that the previous night, despite how surreal it was, was no dream. The sunlight came in through the cigarette holes in the drapes. Charlie moved through the hallway, seeing his mom’s thigh become visible, inch by inch. Her pussy appeared next, and Charlie could still faintly remember the smell, so vividly he thought he was smelling it now. More of her body appeared, first her tummy, then those giant tits, the ones Charlie had cleaned so dutifully the night before. He winced at the hickies which his brother had left. They were only barely visible the night before in the harsh light from the lamp.

Then her chin, her nose, her…

Her eyes were open.

She looked at Charlie, first with eyes wide, then sleepily.

For a moment, Charlie felt a wave of shame come over him, as if he had been found out.

Then Gianna’s expression turned warmed. She smiled at her son, the way she always did. Then she yawned. She began speaking before her yawn faded. “How was your sleep, babe?”

“Good,” Charlie said. He had been tossing and turning, tortured even by his dreams.

She got up, stretching her arms in the air. Her tits hung, illuminated by sunlight, out in the open, as if it were no big deal. The face of that Indian man came to Charlie’s mind. Charlie realized he should have put her dress back on her.

As Gianna was finished her yawn, her eyes opened back up to the sight of her son staring down at her chest. She stared at him, feeling a humor rise within her.

Charlie, looked up to see her staring back. He blushed, terrified at first he’d be yelled at, yelled at the same way she always yelled at Dylan. He felt like Dylan now, like he had been infected by whatever evil it was which had infected his brother.

Gianna instead just sat there, smiling at him, brimming with pride, the way she always was. She leaned back on the couch, her gigantic tits resting against her torso. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, beautiful.”

Charlie stared at her.

She yawned again, and then laughed. “What do you have to be so stressed about?” She put her foot up on the coffee table, and she looked down at the ground. Suddenly, her brows furrowed. “Where’s Dylan?” she asked.

Charlie stood for a moment. “I don’t know…” he said.

“Hm.” She turned to look out the window, bare traces of Dylan’s cum still left against the back of her neck. Charlie cringed at seeing it. She turned back. “I know I’m not supposed to say this. But…” she stopped for a moment. “You and Dylan… huh… how do I…” She looked around, filled with a surprising amount of poise, an amount quite unlike her. “You two are nothing alike.”

Charlie didn’t say anything, more guilt rising within him.

“Dylan is very… he… he makes things hard on me sometimes. You… you make…” she laughed awkwardly. “You make mommy very proud. I just wanted to say that.”

She got up from the couch, her tits swinging, startling Charlie with the movement, and she moved toward him, as nude as she was last night. She kissed her son on his lips, the taste of it sweet, though he reflected afterward on Dylan’s cock rubbing against and through them a few hours earlier. Charlie could feel her breasts push against his beating heart. “You’re such a good boy. You’re mommy’s good boy.” She then pulled away and past him. He turned to look at her.

She turned back, looking over her shoulder with a grin, her naked ass staring back at him. “You need to use the shower, hon? No? Mommy needs a shower. I mean need need one.

She looked back at him as she held onto the bathroom doorway, staring at him, her body full to be examined, her breasts visible from the front due to their size. Her toes resting on the heel of the opposite foot. She gave her son a wink, and she disappeared into the bathroom.

Charlie stood there, not knowing how to feel. Feeling as if he was just imagining her this way. Feeling like Dylan had polluted his mind, gaslit him into thinking something strange about the woman who he had never questioned.

He thought about this, not moving, even as the shower turned on, and those warm fingers of water massaged his mom’s giant tits.

Charlie wondered all this as he passed by that bathroom door on the way to his room. Once he found privacy there, he got onto his bed. Then, for the first time in his life, he jerked off to the thought of his own mother. When he finally came, the shower turned off.